Deleo stood quite still. Khazad took a pace forward, and his voice was soft and deadly. Black energy flared around his right hand. ‘There’s three of us and one of you, old man.’
I craned my neck, trying to look around, but Morden seemed to be alone. I wanted to run but knew any movement would draw everyone’s attention. ‘Yes, yes,’ Morden said tolerantly. ‘Bravado is all very well, but please realise you’re in no position to argue. Now, I’m quite impressed you were able to detect the carrier ward, but if you think for a moment you should realise there must be many more, and quite frankly, at your level of ability—’
‘Shut up!’ Khazad said with a snarl. ‘I can see your ward! It’s nothing!’
Morden sighed. ‘Do pay attention, Khazad. As I was saying, behind that ward are many others, and all of you are well within the blast radius. I’d prefer to do this peacefully, but—’
‘Del,’ Cinder rumbled.
Deleo hesitated, then made a swift motion. Cinder darted left, and energy flared up around Khazad as he drew back to strike.
The entire area vanished in a black wave. A light-eating pulse swept over all of us, nauseating and weakening and dazing me all at once. I felt my strength fade, and crumpled to the ground.
There was a moment of silence, then as if from a distance, I heard Morden speaking. His voice seemed to be fading, growing fainter and fainter. ‘They always have to learn the hard way, don’t they? Pack them up and make sure they’re still alive.’
There was more, but I didn’t hear it. Blackness swallowed me, and everything went dark.
9
I opened my eyes.
I was lying on a warm bed in a small, comfortable room. The walls were panelled with wood. Furniture crowded the room, neat and expensive, and a fire was burning in a fireplace. To one side was a long window; although the room was well lit, the light outside was dim and rain streaked the glass. Something told me not to move, and I didn’t. Instead I lay where I was, letting my memory come back. I was wearing the same clothes as when I left. All I could hear was the faint crackle of the fire and the distant sound of the rain as it beat against the window.
I didn’t have the first idea where this place was, but I knew exactly
When my relationship with Richard Drakh went sour – about the same time I realised how stupid I’d been agreeing to become his apprentice in the first place – I was imprisoned in his mansion. For all that time I was a slave, and I was treated like one. From time to time Richard or one of the others would spend some time with me, either to try and persuade me, or in the later months, just for amusement. Very occasionally I’d be taken out under supervision when Richard had some job he needed me for, and it had been on one of those trips that I’d finally managed to escape. But the rest of the time I’d been a prisoner.
Just like now.
It’s strange. Ever since getting away from Richard’s mansion, even after he was gone, the one thing that I’d been terrified of, more than anything else, was the thought of going back. Now it had finally happened, I wasn’t scared at all. It was more like a relief, as though something inevitable had finally arrived. What I felt more than anything else was the old
I took stock. I was still wearing my clothes, and I was in a bedroom instead of a cell. I wasn’t injured and I couldn’t feel any bruises from the crash; I must have been healed. Adding it all up, that meant I was about to be offered some sort of deal, and that meant I had something to work with, at least for now. With that, I got up, working my arms and legs to lose the stiffness.
The room was small and cosy, the walls made of some kind of reddish wood. Outside, I could hear the wind whining, though inside the air was warm. My pockets were empty, but piled neatly on the table beside the bed was everything I’d been carrying. I went through it and found it all there, from my wallet to my weapons to even the gate stones.
Interesting. Even with my items, they didn’t consider me a threat. Good faith, or overconfidence? Or both?
Old instincts took over and I checked my lines of retreat, looking through the futures of myself trying to leave. The window was locked and warded. The door wasn’t. What about my gate stones …?
Ouch. An interdiction spell. I concentrated and a thousand versions of myself explored the room in a thousand projected futures, looking for a way out besides the door. There wasn’t one. I withdrew and nodded to myself: a gilded cage. I could probably break the window lock given time, but for now it wasn’t worth the risk. I walked to the door.
It opened into a living room. Comfortable-looking sofas and chairs upholstered in red leather filled the floor, while paintings of ancient battles decorated the walls. A fire burned in a fireplace, and the room was warmly lit. Doors led deeper into the mansion.
Settled in one of the chairs, the light sinking into his black hair, was Morden. He had one leg crossed ankle to knee, and was reading from a folder. ‘Ah, Verus,’ he said, not raising his eyes from the page. ‘I’m glad you’re up. Take a seat.’
I walked to one of the sofas facing Morden. Without even looking, I knew that my future depended on the decisions of the man sitting in front of me. Pissing him off would not be a good idea. Morden kept reading for half a minute longer, then nodded to himself, closed the folder and looked up. ‘Good to see you on your feet. I hope you’re feeling better?’
I nodded. ‘Just fine, thank you.’
‘Excellent. First of all, I have to apologise for the way you were brought here. I’d hoped to resolve things peacefully, but your three pursuers seem to have more persistence than sense and, well, you were in the blast radius. I took the liberty of making sure your injuries were healed. I hope there are no hard feelings.’
I’d only gotten a short look at Morden last night. His hair and eyebrows were jet-black and he had the smooth
